Speak Now
by Megan Sleevewillow
Summary: What happens when the Grey Warden shows up to Alistair and Anora's wedding to find that she's been uninvited? Let me tell you... through the majesty of song! Songfic, slightly silly and slightly cracky. Set to Taylor Swift's "Speak Now."


The familiar face smiled from the pendant's back as the Hero of Ferelden hung the chain around her neck. _I'll need your strength today, Papa_. It would have perhaps been wiser and made more sense for her to wear Warden's Oath, but Quinne Cousland wanted something closer to home, something more personal on a day when… Honestly, Quinne couldn't wear something tied so closely to the Grey Wardens as the Warden's Oath. She preferred not to think of them today.

"Ready?" Fergus, now Teyrn of Highever, lingered in the doorway, one shoulder resting against it. He was dressed handsomely in a doublet the same color as Lake Calenhad on a sunny day. The Warden turned away from her dressing table and nodded. "You trying to show up everyone else?" Her brother arched an auburn eyebrow, surveying the sunshine colored gown she wore. It was truly unremarkable, and Quinne merely thought Fergus was trying to make her feel better.

"As if _anyone_ could show up Anora on this day." Quinne replied. She glanced back at the mirror, tucking one of her braids behind her ear. It was funny; her red hair had proved easy to tame into these braids during the Blight, but now her hair refused to stay smooth. Perhaps it was the healthy dose of Darkspawn or miscellaneous blood every few days that had done it. "Carriage is waiting?"

"As long as we're going." Fergus replied. The Teyrn straightened and offered his arm. As his little sister accepted, his face shifted into a mask of concern. "I'm sure no one would think less of you if you didn't go. Surely no one would blame you, Alistair included."

"I would blame myself." Quinne replied, her smile slightly sour. "Let us go before I change my mind… or slip a dagger into my bodice."

"Oh, Mother would _love_ you turning into a regular bodice ripper. Get it? Because a dagger might rip… your bodice…" Fergus' speech slowed at the look Quinne gave him, something crossed between being admonishing and not amused, and he laughed. "Right. Let us go, _Hero of Ferelden_."

"Lead the way, _Teyrn Cousland_."

The carriage was indeed waiting, for all the good it did. All of Denerim had turned out for this "most blessed" of days, including the preceding week. Coronation festivities and the erection of the Wardens' Memorial as well as a proper end to the Blight gave a reason to celebrate after enduring so much hardship. Quinne herself had returned from her stint as Warden Commander in Amaranthine days ago and found herself overwhelmed. It was hard to remember that there was a life outside of hunting down and slaughtering Darkspawn. The ride to the Royal Palace halted frequently, but finally the door opened and Fergus hopped out first, offering his arm to his sister after the fact.

When the Warden emerged, the Royal Palace seemed completely foreign. Not even on the day she was deemed "Hero of Ferelden" had the palace been positively _festooned_ with such decorations. Garlands of flowers bedecked the walls, banners and ribbons flew from the turrets, and petals floated down from the roof. Quinne shut her eyes just in time to avoid being blinded by a rather pointy looking rose petal.

"Teyrn Cousland! And… Oh, Warden Cousland." One of the footmen responsible for greeting guests looked perturbed. "We weren't expecting –"

Quinne's brow furrowed. Weren't expecting what? Her? Alistair had asked her to be there, no matter what their history. Perhaps she shouldn't have come, but if she didn't, the Warden believed she'd never move past it. "Nonsense." Fergus cut the footman off, waving his hand. "Whatever is alarming about the Teyrn of Highever and his sister attending the wedding of the King?"

The footman was a young and portly fellow whose face was beginning to turn ruddy. He seemed lost for words for a moment before bowing and replying, "Very good, ser."

Fergus led as they entered the castle. The exterior should have been a hint of what to expect – Almost every surface was covered in fresh flowers. The scent was almost overwhelming, and Quinne felt sorry for those who had allergies. Silken tapestries glimmered on every wall, and plush carpets rested underfoot. It all seemed ostentatious, especially for a country just emerging from war. What did Alistair think of all this? The Warden felt a pang in her stomach. She'd bet anything that Anora had bowled him over when it came to today. What a horrid woman. How miserable would Alistair be? Not for the first time, Quinne felt hesitation. "Perhaps I should go back…" Quinne whispered in Fergus' ear.

"Don't tell me the Hero of Ferelden is scared of a wedding?" Fergus murmured in reply. His tone wasn't teasing at all, and his eyes sought out his sister's blue ones. Without saying a word, he clearly conveyed that Quinne shouldn't do anything of the sort. With a gulp, Quinne nodded.

"Lead on then."

_I am not the kind of girl_

_Who should be rudely barging in_

_On a white veil occasion_

_But you are not the kind of boy_

_Who should be marrying the wrong girl…_

Quinne could see Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan huddled by the empty throne. Their faces looked drawn and discontent. Closer towards the front of the hall, doors kept opening and closing and Quinne caught glimpses of what must have been the bridal party. Even despite the dull roar of the crowd within the palace, Quinne was pretty sure she could hear high-pitched shrieking similar to that of Nan's when her Mabari got in the larder. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but the opening and closing of the doors wiped reminiscing from Quinne's mind. If she wasn't mistaken, the Warden was sure she saw Anora yelling at Erlina. The poor elf was wearing a gown the same shade as an artichoke including purple accents. And, if Quinne could rely on glimpses from the door, the dress was built something like a layered caked. "Poor Erlina…"

"Hmm?" Fergus asked, looking back from scanning the great hall. "Poor who?"

"It's nothing… Just thought I saw a glimpse of the happy bride to be." His sister replied with a dry smile.

_I sneak in and see your friends  
And her snotty little family  
All dressed in pastel  
And she is yelling at a bridesmaid  
Somewhere back inside a room  
Wearing a gown shaped like a pastry_

Fergus patted his sister's hand and looked back to the hall. "You know, I think I should have taken you up on your offer of going back. This looks to be a horrid affair. Look –" It would have been too obvious to point, but Fergus needed only to make a vague nod towards the crowd to make his point. "Not very many happy faces out there, is there?"

He was right. Those who were smiling already had reddened faces from too much wine or ale. Eamon and Teagan were not the only ones with grim expressions. "It's a nice day for a white wedding." Quinne commented, shaking her head slightly. Her thoughts turned to Alistair and again she wondered how he was handling this. If she could only be there… Well she was here, wasn't she? And surely she could –

Quinne stopped herself. No, she couldn't make a scene. As much as she might want to, the Hero of Ferelden did not ruin the wedding of the King of Ferelden. But wouldn't that be something?

_This is  
Surely not what you thought it would be  
I lose myself in a daydream  
Where I stand and say  
Don't say yes, run away now  
I'll meet you when you're out  
Of the church at the back door  
Don't wait or say a single vow  
You need to hear me out  
And they said "speak now"_

While searching for a seat, Quinne saw the footman from outside pop in and mutter a few words to the guards flanking the doors. _That is probably not the best thing in the world right now_. And, sure enough, two of the guards marched over to Fergus and Quinne when they had barely set foot down the aisle. "Teryn Cousland…" The one to take initiative sported a tattoo over his left eye and black stubble. His companion's own hair was graying beneath his helmet. "We're sorry for the inconvenience, but it appears that your guest is not welcome." Neither of them met Quinne's gaze.

Fergus' eyes darkened and his voice lowered to a dangerous timbre. "And why? Was I not encouraged to bring a guest?"

"Yes, but –"

"The King asked me to come himself." Quinne interrupted. She had beheaded the Archdemon, she wasn't going to have her brother speak for her!

The tattooed guard looked to Quinne, his face reluctant. "I know, Grey Warden. But uh… Queen Anora gave us express orders to bar you entrance."

"This is ridi—" Fergus fumed, his voice causing others to give him sharp glances. The Warden quieted Fergus with a touch to the arm.

"It's fine. Go sit. I'll see you tomorrow." Quinne's words and expression were insistent and Fergus scrunched his lips together in dissatisfaction. Granting the guards a look of pure venom, Fergus simply nodded and continued towards the seats. Quinne turned back to the guards. "Shall I be escorted to the door?"

"We think we can trust you to find your own way out." The tattooed guard replied. "And I'm sorry, my lady, truly –"

"Think nothing of it." Quinne replied, forcing a smile. "I know what it is to be merely following orders."

"That doesn't make it right." The graying-haired guard replied.

"That it doesn't.' His comrade agreed, nodding.

With a heavy heart, Quinne departed from the guards and made for the doors. Perhaps she'd get drunk in the streets with the citizens of Denerim. Perhaps she'd leave Fergus a note and head back to the Vigil. She honestly wasn't sure what her next move was, but such thoughts were interrupted when someone swooped from the sidelines and grabbed her roughly by the arm. _Knew I should have brought a dagger!_ Perhaps it wasn't the most logical choice, but right now stabbing someone would make the Warden feel a little better, thank you very much.

Instead, she was surprised to see Zevran grasping her by the arm so firmly and hauling her to the stairwell that led up to the balcony. "Zev, what –?" Quinne stuttered.

"Trying to crash the royal couple's wedding?" Zevran queried, his eyes glinting. He made a clucking noise with his tongue. "How very Fereldan of you. In my country, we would have sent an entire legion of rabid wolves with a cleanup crew of Crows to make things interesting!"

Quinne couldn't help but smile. How she _missed_ this assassin! "Yes, well, Antivans have _style_, don't they?"

Zevran chuckled appreciatively. "You seem to be rather spirited having been caught red-handed."

"As I was going out the door." Quinne replied. The assassin had yet to release her arm. "What are you doing?"

"I personally think it would be wonderful for you to stay. Maybe knock some sense into Alistair if he sees you." Zevran's eyes glimmered again. "Come."

"Zev, no –" Quinne protested, but her cry went unheeded by the elf who hauled her up the stairs.

"Ah, yes, I think – Yes!" The Antivan pulled his quarry through the door onto the section of the balcony closest to the throne. In one agile move, Zevran shoved Quinne behind one of the thick tapestries and followed closely. "Good view, no?"

"Zevran, for Andraste's sake, what do you expect me to do?"

"Only what your heart tells you to." The elf replied. It was oddly poetic coming from the assassin. Quinne's lips parted to reply, but her response was drowned out by the blaring of what must have been the most Maker-awful song Quinne had ever heard.

"This is the wedding march?" Quinne murmured to herself, chancing a glance around the side of the tapestry. She could spy Anora, wearing a gown with a train that could have made at least half a dozen other dresses. She carried herself with the candor and grace that would be expected of a Queen. Anora's march was like a ceremonial dirge down the aisle without feeling; in its place was liquid poise. "It's like nothing's changed for her."

Quinne knew that if she looked at Alistair that might be the end of her own composure. And yet she had to, she _had_ to look at him. Her eyes scurried ahead of Anora and standing before the throne next to the Revered Mother was Alistair, her fellow Grey Warden and the only man she had ever loved. He looked absolutely wretched. His skin was pallid, and though a stiff smile bent his lips, Quinne knew the man intimately enough to imagine the screaming that must be going on inside of his head. And what was more; he was wearing a horrendous doublet that looked as though it had been embroidered with a life-like representation of every vegetable plant known to man, elf, and dwarf.

"How could you do this?" Quinne whispered, mostly to herself. Zevran wasn't going to let such an opportunity pass.

"Peace among the nobility – You were at the Landsmeet, weren't you?" He teased. His tone became serious though as Quinne gazed at the spectacle. "What a sacrifice for him to make – especially now that it isn't needed, no?"

"But if he rescinded at this point –"

Zevran let out his chortle that usually accompanied his amusement. "What will they do? Behead him for a change of heart? He is King. And you cannot tell me that our dear friend and former comrade-in-arms is truly pleased to be marrying such a cold-hearted woman." Right at that moment, Anora finally reached the steps. Alistair reached for her hand to take as they mounted the steps, but she jerked it out of reach. "Ouch. Burn."

Quinne's face scrunched with concern. Alistair was doing his duty, doing what was expected of him. But should he really have to after all this time? He had done what Quinne requested, he had married Anora for compromise. But had his fellow Grey Warden really thought about what he wanted? What if what he wanted was for Quinne to be the one at his side, not Anora? It was a hell of a thing for Quinne to presume, but who was she to lie to herself? She didn't want this to carry on.

_Fond gestures are exchanged  
And the organ starts to play  
A song that sounds like a deathmarch  
And I am hiding in the curtains  
It seems that I was uninvited  
By your lovely bride-to-be  
She floats down the aisle  
Like a pageant queen.  
But I know you wish it was me  
You wish it was me (Don't cha?)_

_Don't say yes, run away now  
I'll meet you when you're out  
Of the church at the back door  
Don't wait or say a single vow  
You need to hear me out  
And they said "speak now"_

"Zevran, we have to stop this."

"Yes!" Zevran chortled again, and someone on the other side of the tapestry poked him in an effort to silence him. "I _knew_ you would! Come, before they say their vows." Zevran once more grabbed Quinne by the arm and pulled her from behind the tapestry and back through the door to the stairwell.

"What… what am I going to say?" Quinne murmured mostly to herself.

"I cannot give you all these pushes in the right direction and then say the words for you, Quinne!" Zevran rebutted with a look of exasperation. "If you are unsure, why are we not behind that tapestry right now, getting to know each other quite intimately? Even in a room full of people, I am renowned for—"

Quinne had heard enough of Zevran's sexual escapades during the Blight that she was confident her imagination knew _exactly_ what he could do. "There are guards down there – They'll try to stop me if I don't move quickly."

"Leave them to me." Zevran said, giving his hair a shake. "It's been too long since I participated in such an endeavor – And perhaps this will finally be cause for me to go back home to Antiva, yes?" Zevran chortled once more as they approached the door leading to the main floor of the great hall.

Quinne's stomach bubbled with anxiety. What if she was wrong? What if Alistair just had a cold – or what if he was too cross at her to accept her now? The Warden had gone up against Darkspawn, Broodmothers, and slain and Archdemon, but it was this that made her nervous. _It's now or never_.

_Don't say yes, run away now  
I'll meet you when you're out  
Of the church at the back door  
Don't wait or say a single vow  
Your time is running out And they said, "speak now"_

What happened next was a flurry of activity. The Revered Mother's words rang out across the great hall as Quinne and Zevran emerged. Quinne dashed for the aisle and, immediately, guards stationed at the door moved forward to stop her. Zevran preoccupied them moving with the silent stealth of a cat.

"If there is any person here who knows any reason why these two should not be joined together in the Maker's eyes, speak now –" The Revered Mother either did not notice the scrap in the back of the hall or she wasn't going to let anyone ruin her moment. Quinne's knees trembled when they bent as she ran down the aisle. The Warden was not unnoticed, and many rose from their seats as she hurtled down the aisle. The Revered Mother's mouth gaped open in horror and Alistair and Anora turned to see what the matter was.

Quinne came to a stop mere paces from the altar. Her stomach was twisted into knots as her lips parted. _It's now or never_. "Your Majesty," Quinne took a knee, but rose quickly. "I know this isn't my place. I know that this seems utterly disrespectful. But I've come as a friend, because I know that this isn't what your heart desires –"

"This is absolutely preposterous!" Anora hadn't been Queen for five years for nothing. Her voice echoed through the hall with the resonance that only a royal personage could possess. "You _dare_ interrupt –"

"Let her speak!" Alistair was not the only one who had a voice for resonance. His eyes never left Quinne's face and his expression was soft and attentive. "Say what you came here to say, Quinne."

_I hear the preacher say  
"Speak now or forever hold your peace"  
There's the silence, there's my last chance  
I stand up with shaking hands  
All eyes on me  
Horrified looks from  
Everyone in the room  
But I'm only looking at you.  
I am not the kind of girl  
Who should be rudely barging in  
On a white veil occasion  
But you are not the kind of boy  
Who should be marrying the wrong girl!_

Quinne's breath was short in her throat. She swallowed and took a step forward, feeling at ease under Alistair's gaze. "Don't marry her. You don't need to spend your life with her because others pressed you into this agreement. And for that… I'm truly sorry."

"What are you saying, Quinne?" Alistair asked, taking a step away from the altar. Anora's brows were furrowed like hawks in a dive, her face twisted into a look of pure contempt.

"Don't say yes. Come with me–"

"Treason! This is little more than an insurrection against your Queen –"

"But you're not Ferelden's Queen." Alistair said, turning to Anora. He smiled a big toothy grin. "At least not anymore." Alistair almost looked like he was about to burst into laughter. "Everyone, thank you for coming –"

Anora howled with the furor of a dozen Shrieks. Quinne almost shied away from such an earsplitting wail. "I made you, I could _break you_ –"

Alistair crossed to Quinne and with no shame or abashment took her in his arms and kissed her with the fervor of a thirsty man. Grinning like an idiot, he broke the kiss and turned to Anora. "I find that highly unlikely when I'll have the slayer of the Archdemon at my side." He turned back to Quinne. "Fancy dancing the Remigold later?"

"Only if you wear a pretty dress." Quinne replied, smiling the widest she ever had.

Anora sputtered, her fair complexion quickly turning ruddy with rage. "Someone – Someone defend your Queen!"

There was some commotion from former supporters of Loghain in the crowd. They climbed over pews and people to reach the aisle, but a hulking form emerged from the front and planted himself firmly between Anora's defenders and the Grey Wardens. Sten, still as silent and as persevering as ever, simply crossed his arms. "I would not advise such a thing if you wish to leave here with your arms attached."

"Sten!" Quinne cried exuberantly. She had thought he had returned to Par Vollen!

"My fists are yours, _kadan_." Sten replied, his gaze fixed forward. Anora's supporters were foolhardy indeed. All it took was one to launch himself at the Qunari and others followed. Those who hesitated were caught off guard by Fergus emerging from a pew behind them and knocking into the group, causing several to tumble forward.

Sten was imperious enough, but Quinne was genuinely concerned how he would fare without Asala. As though dwarves were able to read thoughts, Oghren suddenly leaped from the pews, wielding a now empty candelabra stand as though it were his axe. "By my ancestors, you shall bleed today!" He bellowed, swinging the candelabra with the haphazard that only a dwarven berserker could manage. "Get on out of here; we'll catch up for drinks!" Oghren called.

Quinne's mouth was agape in awe. Alistair's hand fit into hers and they turned away to face two very upset women. The Revered Mother looked only slightly less aggravated than Anora. "Um… Wedding's off!" Alistair declared before pulling Quinne with him behind the throne.

"Alistair, do you have any idea what you're doing?" Arl Eamon called after the King.

"For one of the first times in my life, yes!" Alistair replied. Leliana suddenly pulled open a curtain leading to a passageway off of the side of the throne. "Alistair, Quinne, here!" She waved in the couple quickly as there was a roar from Sten and the sound of crunching wood. "Shale, a little help here?"

Quinne must have had tunnel vision to not notice the man-sized golem lingering at the foot of the balcony. Several rumbling steps later, the golem had blocked the doorway from anyone else. "It certainly knows how to make an entrance – and exit." Quinne heard her say as they scurried away down the passageway.

Leliana was wearing the robes of the Chantry and smiling as widely as Alistair and Quinne. "For a moment I thought you were going to go through with it!" She declared, looking over her should to Alistair.

"Thank goodness my common sense returned to me." Alistair replied. "But now that I'm a free man, do I really want to bog myself down with a wedding crasher?" The King cast a smirk to Quinne. "How _unseemly_ –" Quinne silenced him with a wet kiss. "Don't mind me, I'm yours."

"There will likely be upset supporters of Anora's looking for you in the palace if you stay." Leliana informed the King, acting as though the kiss hadn't happened. "Might I suggest taking refuge elsewhere until the furor dies down?"

"Isn't that what Quinne wanted me to do, run away with her?" Alistair asked, grinning. "I do admit it has a certain _style_ to it."

"Or we could take refuge with the citizens of Denerim – And get absolutely smashed with them." Quinn suggested, a wolfish grin stretching her lips.

"They both have style!" Alistair declared. He paused and gave the Warden another kiss. "Tell you what – meet you out back after I get into something that doesn't make me look like a topiary."

"Already there. I'll head back out front – see if I can help any of our friends." Quinne returned his kiss with another one.

Leliana giggled. "Come, you two – there'll be enough of that once we're all free of Anora's wrath!"

Quinne followed a stairwell up to the balcony level once more. Emerging onto it, she saw that her comrades-in-arms were doing more than holding their own. In fact, the foolhardy who had leaped to Anora's defense were bruised and bleeding, surrounding Anora as though she were about to be attacked. "Friends of the groom!" Quinne called out, crossing to lean over the railing of the balcony. "Let's scurry off and celebrate!"

"You!" Anora screeched. She reached under her voluminous skirt and pulled the shoe from her foot. Pulling her arm back, she launched the item of footwear into the air like someone who had much practice. Quinne raised an arm to block it, but there was no need. A beam of blue light vaporized it in mid-air, and the Warden found Wynne standing below, staff in hand.

"Really, my lady, show some class." Wynne advised solemnly.

Quinne thought she ruptured her sinuses laughing. With that, she clambered off the balcony and with all of her comrades-in-arms and her brother, they led a mass exodus from the palace. It was not difficult to acquire a carriage and, with Quinne at the reigns and her friends and brother in the carriage, she pulled around back just in time for Alistair and Leliana to emerge. Alistair leaped up onto the seat and Leliana joined Zevran on the back where the footmen would ride.

"I knew you'd show up." Alistair informed Quinne, greeting her with another kiss. "I _am_ irresistible, after all." Quinne simply laughed, snapped the reigns, and the happy band of revelers set off into Denerim to celebrate the crashed wedding and, among other things, their happy reunion.

_So don't say yes, run away now  
I'll meet you when you're out  
Of the church at the back door  
Don't wait or say a single vow  
You need to hear me out  
And they said, "speak now!"  
And you say  
"Let's run away now  
I'll meet you when I'm out  
Of my tux at the back door  
Baby, I didn't say my vows  
So glad you were around when they said 'speak now.'"_


End file.
